Twenty Questions
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: In a universe in which Shannon survives her wound, she invites Sayid to play an unusual game of Twenty Questions. A Lost Shayid fanfic one-shot.


_**Author's Note:**_ I was cleaning up computer files and found this **LOST** Shayid ficlet I wrote _AGES ago_. I never posted it to this archive, so here it is, very late to the game…Most of my _Lost_ fanfic developed the relationship between Sayid and Nadia, but this was one of my few Shayid exceptions.

**Twenty Questions**

Other than the first few days after their island wedding, Sayid and Shannon hadn't been able to spend much time together. Things had grown hectic on the island once again, and Sayid had found himself sleeping with his gun under the pillow. Now that things had calmed down a bit, he was looking forward to an evening alone with Shannon.

They now sat on the sandy floor of their tent. She always looked so beautiful—even here, in the middle of this island, with so few amenities. How did she manage it?

"Do you want to play Twenty Questions?" she asked.

No, he most assuredly did _not_ want to play Twenty Questions. He hadn't spent half the afternoon gathering the perfect flowers to form a small bouquet, he hadn't spent two hours making candles, he hadn't smoothed their blanket into a wrinkle-free ground covering in order that they might play Twenty Questions.

"Certainly," he said.

"You actually know what the game is? You didn't have Twenty Questions in Iraq, did you?"

"I have traveled to many countries, Shannon, and the breadth of my cultural literacy is quite wide ranged. Yes, I know of the game Twenty Questions."

She smiled. "Okay, then," she said, slipping off her sandals to make herself comfortable, "I'll go first." She stretched out her legs and crossed them. His eyes were drawn to her. "I'm thinking…" she murmured, "…I'm thinking of a part of my body."

He looked up from her legs to her eyes. "This is not the version of Twenty Questions with which I am familiar."

"_With which you are familiar._ Who talks like that, Sayid?"

"I do, apparently."

If she had been a teenager (and she wasn't really far from those years, was she?), Shannon probably would have found his formal speech patterns to be nerdish. Now, however, he suspected she merely found them sexy.

"Here are the rules," she stated with a coy smile. "It's just like Twenty Questions. You can ask twenty yes or no questions. At the end, you get to make a guess. If you guess right, you get to kiss me."

"And if I guess incorrectly?"

"You have to take off a piece of clothing."

He glanced down at himself. He was already shirtless and barefoot. "Very well."

He surveyed her body. Her white flesh reddened slightly beneath the intensity of his gaze. "Does it begin with a B?"

"You can't ask what letter it begins with," she insisted.

"Why not?"

"It's a rule. No _begins with_ and no _sounds like_."

"Is it your lips?" he asked.

"You can't name the exact body part in the question either. You've got to ask yes or no questions _about_ the part, and then, at the end, you guess one part. You only get _one _guess."

"I never thought you to be the legalistic type," he said.

"Well in games, more than in life, rules matter."

"Fine," he said. "Is it a part of the body I've kissed before?"

"Wasted question. But the answer is yes. Now you have nineteen."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by saying, _wasted question_?"

"Is there a part of my body you _haven't_ kissed?"

"You have a point." He let his eyes roam again. "Is it bigger than a bread box?"

Suddenly, he was slammed in the chest by the heel of an angrily propelled sandal. He caught it and put it back down in the sand. "What was the purpose of that impromptu assault?"

"What part of my body is _bigger_ than a bread box!"

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, what are we talking here? Height, width, or volume?"

"Sayid!"

"Very well. I assume the answer is no. It is _not_ bigger than a bread box. That leaves me with eighteen questions."

She made a hmphing sound and armed herself with her other sandal, just in case.

"Is it on your head?"

"No," she answered. "Seventeen questions."

"Is it on your torso?"

"No. Sixteen questions."

"Is it something I have kissed in public? On the beach, perhaps, where anyone might walk by?"

"No," she replied. "You've never kissed it in public. Fifteen questions."

At this answer he smiled. "Is it something you _like_ me to kiss?"

She shrugged. "I don't _dis_like it. Fourteen questions."

Well that wasn't very encouraging. "Is it something I kiss frequently?" he asked with confusion.

"No," she replied. "Thirteen questions."

"No?" Now he was intrigued. "Is it something you would like me to kiss more often?"

"Not really. Twelve questions."

"Is it above your waist?" he inquired.

"No. Eleven questions."

"Is it below your waist?"

She tsked. "Wasted question, Sayid. Ten left."

"Why is that a wasted question?"

"If it's not above my waist…"

"Oh, yes, of course." His eyes made their way below her waist. "Is it a part of the body only I have had the privilege of seeing? I mean…since we've been together."

"No. Nine questions left."

He frowned. He hadn't been expecting that answer. "Is it your thighs?"

Now the other sandal came flying. "How many men do you think I expose my thighs to?"

"Many," he said hesitantly. "You do quite a bit of sunbathing in that bikini of yours."

She crossed her arms and conceded his point. "Still, you shouldn't have asked that. Remember, you can't name the exact part, unless it's your final guess. Only questions _about_ the part. Eight questions."

"Is it…" he speculated, "Is it something that is exposed to my view at this very moment?"

"Yes. Seven questions."

There were his eyes again, scouring her. "Is it your knees?"

"How many times do I have to _tell_ you, Sayid? You can't name the _exact_ part."

"Okay, then, is it a part of the body you might wear a knee pad on if you were playing football?"

She groaned.

"That is a fair question."

"No," she answered. "No, it's not my knees. Six questions."

He now came over and stretched himself out beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. He let his hand roam from her waist down to her feet. "Your legs? The entire extent of your legs?"

"Sayid…" She was beginning to sound a bit irritated now.

"Yes, I forgot. Not the exact part. And those _are_ bigger than bread box. See, there _is_ something!"

"Five questions."

"What could it be, Shannon?" His brown hands slowly explored her pale skin. "Does it arouse you when I kiss this part of the body?"

"Not particularly," she said. "Four questions."

He frowned. "Can this part of the body be suckled?"

"It _can_ be. Three questions."

"Is it on your foot?"

"Yes. Two questions."

"I am prepared to guess."

"Are you sure you don't want your last question?"

"I do not need it," he assured her.

"Then guess."

"It is your heel."

"No!" She forcibly removed his roaming hand from her legs. "No, it's not my _heel_, Sayid! A heel can't be suckled!"

He laughed.

"You lost on purpose, didn't you?"

He sighed loudly. "I suppose I shall have to remove my pants," he replied with a pronounced air of resignation. "As I have lost this round. And it is rather a shame, considering that I washed my boxers just this morning. They are still drying."

"Sayid!" Her tone was one of rebuke, but she didn't take her eyes off of him as he began to unbutton and unzip his trousers.

When his pants were discarded on the tent floor, he came and lay on the blanket beside her, his elbow just above the cloth and planted in the sand. He pushed her gently down onto her back. "I'm thinking of a part of the body," he said, "that I would like you to caress."

"I'm ready to make my guess now," she replied, just before his lips devoured hers.

**THE END**


End file.
